But There Were Some Who Resisted
by CleverYoungThief
Summary: The requested sequel to "Forever Waiting". A Helm's Deep fic. Some will fall in Rohan's last stand, and some will wield. But Hope is not yet lost....
1. Legions of Light: Call to Arms

Author's Note: Yes, this is the long-awaited Helm's Deep sequel to Forever Waiting. At least the first chapter of it. Well, long-awaited like..two days. Anyway, here's the first chapter. If there's any differentiations between this and the movieverse, or this and the book, be assured they're done on purpose for reasons of artistic license. Mostly because I didn't like some of the things they did in the movie. So I'm changing them. A little. Basic story's the same.  
  
PS - If you didn't read Forever Waiting, I suggest you do that first. Otherwise, you might get lost in some of the later chapters. But don't worry, I've been assured at least Forever Waiting is a good fic. ^_- You'll have to decide on this one for yourself.  
  
Oh yeah, the elvish song in here is mine. So is anything that you don't recognize as something from the movie or the book. All the rest belongs to Tolkien, but he's dead, so I doubt he cares. Anyway. Yeah.  
  
Legions of Light: Call to Arms  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Two days passed after Aragorn's return, and the Deep remained quiet, calm as the eye of a terrible storm. Aragorn warned Theoden of the coming armies, and the Deep made ready for war. So he recovered, pampered by Eowyn's healers and wholly unhappy with the situation, his eyes fixed always to the east. He spent his mornings out on the parapet, smoking a pipe thoughtfully as he stared off into the rising sun, his gaze never leaving the horizon, and the hordes he knew would soon be coming. Legolas used the days to make arrows, as many as he could, as he secretly did not trust those of the Rohan to fly straight and true as his own. Gimli explored the Deep, wandering as he would, grumbling appreciatively over the architecture of the citadel.   
  
In the middle afternoon of the third day, a keening summon claxon, as piercing as a hawk's cry, rolled across the Deep. The people of Rohan stilled to listen, some fearing that the attack they had so dreaded was finally upon them.   
  
"That call," Legolas whispered, looking up from his shaft. A feeling of mingled delight and triumph surged through him, swelling his heart until he felt it might burst. It was a gladness so great it was almost painful. "That is no orc call..."   
  
The golden horn sounded again, a pure and clear cry, as fair as audible sunlight, meant to drive away darkness. Legolas thought he might weep with the beauty of it. // How often I have been close to tears, these last few days, // he thought, swallowing back his joy.   
  
Aragorn, who was standing near him, looked over at the elf. "That is no horn of Gondor." A guard of Rohan, one of the Horsemasters, looked over at both of them. "That is not a call of Rohan, either."   
  
Suddenly, a great rise of elvish singing came on the wind, an open funnel of a thousand voices mounting from the depth of the grasslands. It was a gorgeous, swelling hum that filled the Riddermark, a trembling call of victory already being celebrated.   
  
::We rise, from Lady's mighty falls  
From the Wood where fair winds blow  
We come, with hope for Rohan Men  
And arrow on the bow::  
  
::Have peace, have peace, Men of the Mark!  
We call to arms and Rohan's aid  
We wield for Man and Elven glory  
And come when we are bade::   
  
"It is the Legions of Light," Aragorn whispered. He stood and climbed to the crest of the Deep. Coming towards them on the plains was a vast army, a marching multitude that seemed shaped from gold and mythril.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Whispers and awed murmurs wove through the people of Rohan as the elvish army came. The elves did not look to either direction as they strode unafraid into the courtyard of the Deep. They did not wait at the gates, only came straight through, and the guards were too abashed to try and stop them.  
  
Gimli walked up next to Legolas and Aragorn, his eyes widening in surprise. He spoke in a surprised, rumbling whisper. "It is the people of Galadriel the Fair."  
  
These imposing creatures did not meet the eye of any man, not even Aragorn or Legolas, yet the Fellowship knew that they had nothing to fear from them. Their eyes were trained on their leader, mounted on an ivory horse of the Eldar at their helm. When they stopped, lowering their lances, they stilled in unison, an army of immovable sculptures. It was almost as if they didn't breathe.   
  
Haldir rode his horse before them, coming to a stop before Aragorn and Legolas. He lifted his right leg over the horse's back without so much as touching its neck, slipping off the elvish steed in a single liquid movement. It was a thing that was almost eeriely graceful, this mastery of the horse that Haldir made seem so easy and effortless, and the people of Rohan gasped softly.   
  
"They're not much, but they're the best that Our Lady of Lorien has to offer," Haldir said dryly in Elvish, bowing to Aragorn in respect, right hand raised to his chest. "They're the chosen favored from Her legions, handpicked killers, and we offer them to you, Estel of Halfelven, to do with as you will." He smiled with elvish, sardonic humor. "I am included in Our Lady's gift." He motioned towards the silent legions behind him. "They're hardly an army, my friend, but they are yours to command. For the protection of the Rohan, if nothing else. I give this message in the name of The Lady."  
  
"Yes," Aragorn murmured in the same language, reaching up to rasp fingertips across the stubble on his face, a distracted, wondering gesture as he looked over the elvish regiment in as much awe as if he had never seen them before. A feeling he hadn't had in weeks-a dim feeling of mounting hope, like a fierce bonfire catching to flame in the wind-was creeping over him. These elves made the difference. Against all odds, they had come to the aid of Men. Legolas was not alone in his faith.   
  
"I thank you for coming, Haldir," he said quietly, looking the elvish lord, their eyes meeting steadily.   
  
Haldir looked back at him, still smiling with lazy amusement, reminding Aragorn of a great golden panther, well-fed and content. He had the eyes of a big cat that was old enough to be wise to the hunter's traps, and young enough to still enjoy the hunt himself. The elf shrugged-an eloquent, ambiguous gesture-and spoke with the no-nonsense tone of a seasoned warrior. "You thank me for nothing. If I had had to sit through one more tiresome, solemn council to decide on the part we would play in this battle, we may have come only early enough to see the smoke rising from the ruins of this place. But of course...that is not what you mean, is it, Hope of Imladris?"  
  
Aragorn smiled back. "No, I suppose not."  
  
Haldir's smile faded, his expression serious, but fond. "For my people, this has been a hard decision, Estel. I will not deny it. We have fought in harsh words to resolve to come to your aid and the aid of Theoden. Many of our people feel the call of the Sea, including myself. I think it will sound foolish, but I want to protect Lorien's forests whether we remain in this world or not, and to keep the falls of Nimrodel pure and clear, for as long as I can brandish a bow. And so, we have come to you."  
  
Aragorn reached forward and-on impulse-embraced Haldir, but he instantly regretted it when he felt the elf go awkward and stiff in his arms. // Mistake. I should have known better, // he thought, letting the elf go. // I knew better than that. // He did know better than that, for he had known Haldir almost all his life. Haldir was kind, brave, generous beyond measure, but he had always had a streak of that strange elvish arrogance, a casual contempt that he probably didn't even realize he emanated anymore. And he did not like to be hugged. Not many of the Elves did, by anyone but their closest kin, not even Elrond. When Aragorn stepped back, he saw it in Haldir's eyes.   
  
Foolish mortal, those eyes said. You have forgotten the ways of our people. Your people.   
  
"Sorry, my friend," Aragorn replied to that unspoken rebuttal, lowering his eyes.   
  
A smile crept cautiously back onto Haldir's face, and the elvish lord reached forward, grasping Aragorn's shoulder and giving it a tentative squeeze. "Forgiven, faithful young king. You only forget yourself," he replied impatiently. "So, you find my legions satisfactory, then?"  
  
"Young?" Aragorn replied with a laugh, ignoring Haldir's last comment. "I am hardly young."  
  
"Yet always young, to us." Haldir reached forward suddenly and grabbed Aragorn by the shoulders, peering into the man's eyes hard, as if searching for something. They stayed this way for an eternity of seconds. The intensity that they stared with at each other gave the Rohan riders a chill; it was as if each was reading the other's soul.   
  
Haldir backed away at last, seemingly satisfied. "You're back, then, Elessar."  
  
Aragorn smiled. "Yes."  
  
"You are yourself again."  
  
"I have always been myself," Aragorn replied, laughing again.   
  
"You were always a leader at heart, Estel."  
  
"And not yet wholly a king."  
  
Haldir shook his head. "You are as much of a king as you can be, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. And your people need you."  
  
"They have the Steward, Haldir."  
  
"But it should be your throne to keep. Not his."  
  
"But it isn't."  
  
"You would be better."  
  
"What's wrong with Denethor? Don't the people trust him?"  
  
"Of course they do. But he is not a good leader. He isn't you," Haldir said, gazing sternly at him. "You hide in the garbs of a Ranger, but everything you were hiding from has been with you all along, like mythril hidden deep in the rock. Being the Ranger can protect you from what you are, but a king is *who* you are."  
  
Aragorn looked back at him. His tone was serious when he spoke again. "Then what am I, Haldir?"  
  
"You are what you do."  
  
"When?"  
  
"When it counts."  
  
"More elvish riddles. Why did you really come, Haldir?"  
  
There was a beat of silence. Haldir broke it, smiling gently. "I could not let you go so bravely to doom alone, Estel of Halfelven. Not without a fight. I come with the blessings of the Lady, and the blessings of your father, Lord of Imladris, who has also sent as many soldiers as he had willing, which were many. You hold the hearts of all the Elven folk. And we would not lose you. You were Estel before you were Aragorn. Never forget that."  
  
"Thank you, Haldir, again," Aragorn repeated, formally. "For coming. For believing in me," he added, swallowing hard. "And my people."  
  
Haldir blinked, gracefully embarrassed. "I had nothing better to do..."  
  
Aragorn laughed. So did Legolas, albeit more quietly. Gimli did not, only looked on, feeling a bit miffed and left out because he did not understand a word they were saying.  
  
Haldir noticed the dwarf, switching to the Common Tongue. "Greetings, Gimli, son of Gloin. My Lady sends her greeting to you in particular, and with it the hopes that you will fight fiercely, and somehow return to Lorien, or journey to Valinor with us, for we would much like you to experience our hospitality under friendlier climes and in friendlier times."  
  
"You may tell The Lady at your return that I will journey back to Lorien as soon as the threat of Sauron is vanquished, for I would be happy the rest of my days, only to look upon her face once more," Gimli replied gruffly, though he seemed to blush beneath his great bushy beard. Legolas bit back a grin.   
  
Haldir's gaze moved to Legolas. "Legolas of Thranduil, I had riders sent to Mirkwood, to see if your father would send troops to aid the Rohan, but it seems that your Court has already traveled for Valinor and the Western Sea. The Great Green Wood of the North is dark and abandoned." Haldir scowled slightly. "Did you know of this?"  
  
"Yes," Legolas replied softly. "I agreed to remain behind in Arda, and attend Elrond's Council in my father's stead, for I have not yet decided to journey to the Undying Lands."  
  
Aragorn looked over at Legolas sharply. He knew that Elrond's court was making preparations to travel to Valinor, but he had had no idea that the Mirkwood Elves had already left. Legolas did not look at him.   
  
Haldir broke into Aragorn's thoughts. His voice was solemn now, and grim. "Come, Elessar, Legolas of Thranduil, Master Dwarf. We have much to speak of. I have seen the Dark Army marching."   
  
The Lorien warrior glanced back towards the darkening horizon, and when he looked back at Aragorn, Aragorn was surprised to see dim fear in Haldir's dark eyes.   
  
"We flew before them only by a few leagues. And they come now, they can march boldly under the Sun who shunned them before and kept them to the darkness. They come for this hold."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
So, tell me what you think, eh? And if you have something you want to see in Helm's Deep, by all means drop it in the suggestion box known as a REVIEW! *grin* 


	2. Calm Before The Storm

Calm Before The Storm  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"So, Haldir, they are coming then?"  
  
The two of them were sitting at a table within the Hornburg. The elvish captain nodded seriously. "Yes. They are ten thousand strong at least. I have brought only roughly a thousand elves with me, Estel, and these with me are from both Lorien and Imladris. You have perhaps three hundred people here. You know why I don't say soldiers. They are too young, too old. You have maybe a hundred true warriors here. The rest are stableboys and farmers and ranchers and old men and children."   
  
"Ten thousand strong? They were half that when I saw them."  
  
"They have picked up more orcs along the way, goblins, and Wild Men of the Border Lands."  
  
Aragorn sighed. "Yes. And we must send children against them. Children and men old enough to be my grandfather."  
  
"Yes. Lovely war, mellon-nin, that you've gotten yourself into."  
  
"How did you talk all these elves coming to our aid, Haldir?" Aragorn asked.   
  
"Well, when they heard that Estel needed warriors at the eastern border, they came. And I *am* the Captain of the Legions of Light," Haldir added, a tad smugly.   
  
Aragorn grinned. He always found his friend's amazing haughtiness endearing.   
  
Haldir saw the grin and grinned back, feigning offense. "You laugh at me? Don't be impertinent."  
  
"Never," Aragorn replied, still smiling. "Besides, what *would* I do without Galadriel's Golden Bane?"  
  
"You make sport of me now!" Haldir cried, his voice rising in mock indignity, although a smile still played at his lips. "And what would you do if I denied you aid, young foolish Hope?"  
  
"I would thrash you," Aragorn answered cheerily.  
  
Haldir laughed. "Hmph, says Longshanks the Ranger."  
  
"Or I could blackmail you, of course."  
  
"Blackmail? You risk to suggest that my record is sullied, you insolent brat?"  
  
"Of course I would not dare to do such a thing," Aragorn replied, smiling. "But Elrohir and Elladan would not hesitate."  
  
"Your brothers!"  
  
"I'm sure they wouldn't have any qualms with recalling your many sordid affairs to the Court. Especially your part in their childhood pranks, since they were always punished, and you always remained unscathed."  
  
"Ai, Estel, you bastard. You wouldn't dare!"  
  
Aragorn only laughed again. Haldir joined him softly.  
  
There was a few moments of silence between them. They sat, Aragorn smoking a pipe thoughtfully, Haldir merely sitting patiently, staring into the hearth. Aragorn was numb, weary. But more than that, he realized, he was relieved. Completely and utterly relieved. He didn't know exactly what that meant. Maybe that he had really thought there was no hope before Haldir came. He didn't want to know. He didn't care much for self-analysis, anyway.   
  
All his life, he had known Haldir. Aragorn was as close to him as he was to Legolas. Despite the fact that he was from another elvendom than Haldir, and that Lorien and Imladris were rather different in ritual and culture, they had managed to stay in touch since Aragorn's childhood, since the two Courts were related by blood. Most of the major events in his life, Haldir had been there. Haldir had been the first person he told about his feelings for Arwen. Mostly because at the time, Arwen had been unofficially betrothed to Legolas...and that was a little awkward.   
  
Still, Aragorn managed to love all of them equally. He loved Legolas's devotion, and Haldir's pride, and Arwen...he loved everything about Arwen. He loved his father and his brothers. Galadriel, like an aunt to him, and Celeborn. Even Thranduil, stern and stubborn. These wise, beautiful creatures...how they had all touched him, in their own ways.   
  
Haldir yawned lazily. Aragorn was nonplussed. How the elf could manage to remain so completely tranquil in the face of destruction was beyond him.   
  
"Haldir, we must prepare for battle. If they are as close as you say, they will be here by nightfall."  
  
"Suddenly you're in a hurry, Elessar?"  
  
"And you are not?"  
  
"You have about five hours to prepare the Men of Rohan. My warriors are prepared to fight at any time."  
  
Aragorn stood. "Let's begin preparations, then. We have not a second to spare."  
  
Haldir laughed. "Are you trying to frighten me, Estel?"  
  
Aragorn was exasperated beyond all measure. Haldir's calm was infuriating. "Haldir, don't you understand? It is the army of Saruman and Sauron! It is the Dark Army of Mordor!"  
  
"Relax, mellon-nin. Do not go around shouting for people to get ready for battle. Do not go dragging the children from their mothers and the men from their wives until the last two hours before battle at least. If you take them before then, there will be trouble."   
  
Haldir looked up at Aragorn, that dark stillness still in his eyes, that perfect calm of the storm. "I will give you a piece of advice, Estel, as a leader of your people. You can do almost anything for your mens' sense of confidence. You can remind them that no army has ever conquered this citadel, and that's true. You can give them the best weapons, the best armor, tell them that they're invincible, which is not so true, but couldn't hurt. And none of it will be worth a shit when they get out on the ramparts and see the army that I've seen coming at them, covering the plains like a great writhing shadow."   
  
He stood and clapped Aragorn on the shoulder. "Take my counsel. Spring it on them at the last moment. Shovel them into their gear and shove a weapon into their hands and put them out there. Do not forget that these are not soldiers. There is no way they can prepare, and forewarning will only unnerve them. Give them an hour's notice, so they can say goodbyes to their families. But that's all. Until then, prepare the armory."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It was time.   
  
Foreboding wrapped around the air of the Deep like a cloak, though things went on as before. The women cooked eggs, baked bread, cut jerky, made knapsacks of food. The youngest children wandered aimlessly, hanging their heads, feeling the emotional climate probably better than any of the adults, like little deer trapped and scenting fire. They did not know what to do with themselves.  
  
Gorgeous valuables of the Rohan littered the throne room of the Hornburg. Beautiful carpets, tapestries of the Riddermark herds, flying over the plains at full gallop. Silver and iron family heirlooms were piled haphazardly here and there, though there was too much integrity and fear for anyone to think to steal them.   
  
Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas and Haldir went around to the gathered families of the Rohan, waking them from sleep, or taking them from their meals. "Get up, good men and women of Rohan, get up!" Haldir called, leaning down every few minutes to wake someone dragging them from comforting dreams. "You must get ready for battle! All able to carry a sword or wield a bow to the armory! Stand and be ready to be called!"   
  
They moved through the throngs, picking out the able men, as young as nine and as old as ninety. A few young women, shield-maidens, daughters of families without sons, volunteered to fight, and with a moment's hesitation, Aragorn showed them to the armory along with the boys.   
  
Some of the women screamed in helpless defiance as Aragorn and Haldir, leaders of the swordsmen and archers, picked their numbers over, taking men and boys and sometimes even older maidens.  
  
Legolas watched all this silently. One little boy was crying, holding onto his father's jerkin, trying to take hold of the man's hands. "Daddy! Don't go!....Don't go...." The man took the boy's hand for a moment, then brushed the child away with impatient numbness. This shook Legolas more than the screaming women.   
  
Some of the women threw themselves at the four of them, begging and pleading for this one and that one. Don't take him, please! If he goes, then so do I! One woman grabbed for the front of Haldir's golden fine-mail, appealing for the life of someone. Her fingers slipped on the tiny, smooth links.   
  
Haldir listened to this for so long, his expression both pitying and appalled, and then his gaze grew cold and stern. He pulled the woman's hands gently from his front. "What did you think, my lady? That you traveled all this way for your pleasure? That this was some kind of holiday? Why do you think you were forced to come? Don't you understand!? They're coming! You can't let yourselves be killed. You can't go dumb to the slaughter, like stupid beasts.Your strong have got to fight."   
  
Finally, they came to Tandir and Tamor. The boy stood proudly at his father's side, bow slung over his shoulder. "I am an archer," he said to Aragorn, as if announcing a royal title. "And my father is a swordsman."  
  
"Good. You will come with me, then," Haldir said to the boy. He glanced at Tandir. "You will go with Aragorn."  
  
Aragorn looked at the boy. Charming kid, he thought, gazing at the boy's fierce green eyes. We'll probably get him killed, too.  
  
Legolas looked at Tamor. After a few seconds, he looked at Aragorn.   
  
"Not this one, Aragorn. Send him to the caves with the girl."  
  
Tandir looked hopeful, thinking maybe both his children would escape the selection, but Tamor's eyes flashed angrily. "What in the bloody hell are you talking about?! I'm fit to fight! I'm not going to hide like a toddler or a matron! I will battle!"   
  
Aragorn kneeled in front of the boy, looking him in the face. He kept his voice only low enough for Tamor to hear. "You would fight, but if you and your father were to fall, who would care for your sister?"  
  
"If I don't fight, and the Deep falls, who would keep an orc from maiming her?"  
  
"...Fine. If you can fight, you fight."  
  
"Aragorn..." Legolas said, ready to protest.   
  
Aragorn looked back at him, gaze solemn. "I just don't know who else to get, Legolas." And he thought, silently, I'm tired of taking them. I'm tired of crying mothers and crying wives. I'm tired of irate fathers who do not want their sons to have to fight at their sides. I'm tired of childless wives begging me to fight alongside their husbands. But we need as many as we can get. So I take them anyway.   
  
But most of them will die. And that means I have to pick and choose these men, these women, these children, and send them to a violent end just because they are strong enough, fast enough, to stand a sliver of a chance.   
  
And they're all brave. They all go willingly. When a boy's mother cries, the boy is willing to fight. When a man's wife cries, he is still willing to fight. Because they love their king, and their home. But that's the worst part of it. None of them would say they would not defend the Deep. So they would defend it, and they would die doing it.   
  
The boy was eager, maybe a little too eager, but enthusiasm was better than cowardice.   
  
Legolas did not protest again.  
  
Aragorn turned back to the boy and his father, nodding. "You and him get to the armory. Get fitted with mail and shields, if there are any left. Get any weapon you're able to wield. Archers on the ramparts. Swordsmen and such in the courtyard."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
There was a great heap of mail in the armory. It was passed out with quick, quiet efficiency. Without any spoken words of agreement, all men saved the best armor and shields for the women. They took for themselves the best weapons.  
  
Aragorn's voice was quiet, soft with patient command, and all listened to him as if entranced. His aura of authority was something that could not be denied. The makeshift soldiers of Rohan watched him expectantly, their eyes hopeful.   
  
"People of Rohan, we go now to battle the armies of Mordor and Isengard. There's a long road of suffering ahead of you, and a long night of toil. But don't lose courage. Muster your strength, and do not lose heart. You have the power to cut the chains that bind you to your fate. You alone can liberate your lands, and drive the Enemy from them. Drive out despair, and you will stay alive. If you fight bravely, the dawn will come. And so I tell you to let there be camaraderie among you. We are all brothers now, kings and stableboys, elf-lords and dwarves and farmers, and if the Rohan falls, we will all suffer the same fate. We will fight together or we will fall separately. Help one another. It's the only way to survive."   
  
Haldir looked around at them, a passing expression that might have been disgust crossing his face. Disgust at the whole terrible situation, Legolas guessed.  
  
"Move out," Haldir said, gently.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Don't forget to review! 


	3. Thunder Marching

Author's Note: The song is an adaptation from one of Tolkien's other songs. I mixed words up to make it fit. So I only take fifty percent credit.   
  
For whoever asked....*laughs* I don't know where Theoden is. I wanted the fic to be mostly from Aragorn and Legolas's points of view, so I kinda moved him to the backdrop. (Don't really like Theoden, anyway. Too King Lear-ish for me.) You don't see him almost throughout Helm's Deep, anyway. So...yeah. I may bring him back into the fic later.  
  
Thunder Marching  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Legolas stood out on the parapet, ready for battle.  
  
When he saw Tamor coming towards him, young face fierce with black stripes painted across his cheeks from a paste of ash and water, Legolas turned away, trying to hide his fear, which yammered in his mind like a trapped animal.   
  
Tamor was wearing a full-length breastplate that was too big for him, dragging at the waist. He wore an old, battered helm with a rearing horse, then symbol of the Riddermark, at its front. The sword slung across his back was dented and seemed nothing more than a dull club. His bow was obviously his own; worn, but well cared for.  
  
Not a warrior, a child, Legolas thought. He wanted to turn the boy back, back towards the caves with the women and children, but Tamor had denied him before, and to try and urge the boy to hide again would just be an offense that the boy wouldn't heed, anyway. It would only make him resent Legolas, so Legolas decided to keep his mouth shut, and focus on his own fate.   
  
He looked down on the approaching army of orcs and the Wild Men of the borders. They filled the plains like an advancing wave, their torches glinting in the storm's darkness like a skyfield of fell stars. The ground shook and cried out with their coming. It was a terrible sound. Legolas had never seen so many warriors in his life.   
  
He could die.   
  
Legolas had always had terrible nightmares, all through his life, about being shut in. In the caves of Moria, deep beneath the earth, surrounded and outnumbered by goblins and orcs, his nightmares had been realized, and he had spent that whole week in the dark in utter horror. He felt the return of that same dread, here in a fortress of cold stone and unfeeling rock, standing in the starless dark, with thousands of the Enemy marching down on them.   
  
No way out. He was at Aragorn's side, for better or worse. The time for retreat had passed. His people were gone. To retreat now meant not only abandoning Aragorn to death, but also to live out his life alone in the dark, dangerous forests of Mirkwood.   
  
Aragorn had been the only person to know about these dreams. Aragorn would hear him, shaking and calling out in his sleep, and wake him up, speaking softly to him like a child until he could try and go back to sleep, trembling and cold and trying to convince himself that it was only a dream, that the lights had not been taken out, that a cave would not prove to be his tomb.  
  
Instead, it would be a rampart. A rampart, with the stars hiding in their grief, and a storm raging before him and all around him.  
  
He did not wear armor like the Men. He needed his agility, his balance, and armor did not account for either. But standing here, without armor, he knew that his nightmares were coming to him. And that Aragorn would not be there this time, to wake him up and soothe him out of them. Because Aragorn and Gimli were trapped here, too. If they found themselves sleeping now, they would not have the chance to wake. It would be a slumber of the more eternal type.   
  
He knew that people would die. He was equally aware that he could be one of them. He knew, somehow, he was going to die, that all of them would. Even with the Legions of Light, they were still more than three times outnumbered.   
  
Legolas knew he could handle it. There was no point in despairing. If it was his fate to die in this business, than so be it. Right? Even Elves could fall. Be cool, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath. Be composed. That's a good word. Go to death with dignity.  
  
Bullshit. Maybe Aragorn could die as one of his people, but all of Legolas's soul stormed against this battle. It raged against his certain death, and his decision to stay and see it play out.   
  
// I may never see the Great Woods again, // he thought, and shivered.   
  
Gimli approached on his other side, standing beside him. "Ready, Master Elf?" His voice was a rather chipper rumble.   
  
Legolas looked down at the dwarf and said nothing. What did Gimli expect him to say? They were going to their deaths. Even with the help of Lorien, he knew that if they lived to see the dawn, it would be a miracle of the Valar. And they all knew it.  
  
Gimli read the fear in the elf's eyes and fell silent. He nodded and dropped his gaze. He tried to look over the rampart, but his height disabled him. "Blast it all, this bloody wall! Could you not have picked a better vantage point?"  
  
Despite his insistent fear, Legolas forced a smile. "Would you have me describe it to you, or would you like me to find you a box?" // Do you wish to see your own death so badly, mellon-nin? For Valar's sake...be glad for your height and blindness. //  
  
There was a returning good-natured grumble that sounded vaguely obscene. Legolas did not catch it. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, a frantic drumming.   
  
"-do they do it?"  
  
Legolas opened his eyes, looking over at Gimli. "What?"  
  
"I said, how do they do it?" Gimli repeated, looking around at the elves in wonder. While the men stood silent and fearful, swords and spears glimmering in the torchlights as their hands trembled, the elves seemed completely at ease. They stood about talking in their whispery singsong voices, gesturing, laughing softly. There was a slight hint of intensity, as if the elves were tightly strung bowstrings, ready to snap, but it was barely noticeable.   
  
The dwarf looked at Legolas. Legolas began to answer, but suddenly, Tamor's voice came from his other side. It was clear. Strong. Questioning.  
  
"They are not afraid, Master Elf. They aren't afraid at all. Are they mad? Is it sorcery?"  
  
An elf of Haldir's regiment began to hum. So did the others, humming in perfect harmony. Then, they began to sing, a haunting melody that was barely audible beneath the storm. Their serene, solemn voices were heartbreaking. Legolas could hardly breathe. Their song called to the strange elvish core of his heart, the part of his heart he had left to call his own.   
  
::Under Mountain dark and tall  
The Rohan Men protect their Hall  
The orcs will die, the Enemy fly  
And ever so their foes shall fall::  
  
::Our swords are sharp, our spears are long  
Our arrows swift, the Gate is strong  
Our hearts are bold in shadows cold  
Horsemasters no more shall suffer wrong::  
  
"You're wrong," Legolas said, glancing around at the elves. He could see it in them, even if Gimli and the boy could not. The way they sang, eyes closed, shutting out the darkness, turning their gaze inward for a dose of pleasant memories, remembering warm drowsy sunlight on their faces and the smell of leaves, like a gladiator calling for wine before a battle.  
  
"They have lived for thousands of years," Legolas whispered softly, still staring out into the darkness. "They know that for all the ages of their lives, all could be in vain. They could each of them fall tonight. All it would take would be one blow, one arrow, to destroy centuries of life."  
  
He looked back at Tamor and Gimli, his expression unreadable.   
  
"They're terrified," he said, simply.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Silence. Total silence, besides the sound of the approaching hordes, their heavy, horrid feet making the ground thunder. Above them, the sky crashed and bellowed. Lightning lit the night, flickering on pale faces.  
  
"I don't want to die here, not like this.." Legolas whispered silently in Elvish, and looked over at Tamor. The boy was also whispering to himself, mouthing the words. It took him a few moments to read what the boy was saying, murmuring to himself over and over, like a litany.   
  
"I am Tamor, son of Tandir, and I will dare the goblin's arrow, the orc's blade, the warg's maw. I am Tamor, son of Tandir, and no matter what the suffering, I will not commit my heart to sleep until my lifeblood runs red from battle wounds and my head is cloven from my body. I am Tamor, son of Tandir, and I will not abandon my king or my duty, living or dead, 'til I have completed my course and victory is within my grasp. I am Tamor, son of Tandir. This is what is asked of me, this is what I yield."  
  
Next to this boy, who thrummed with terror and was brave in the face of it, Legolas felt like a coward. He took a deep, cleansing breath and fell silent. What replaced his fear and doubt and horror was only something, some warlike creature hidden deep inside him, cold and detached and precise. He distanced himself from the carnage to come.  
  
// Aragorn...I believe. I believe... // Legolas thought, closing his eyes again. Another deep breath. He found his center, pulling the night around him like a protective cloak.  
  
"Good luck, Gimli."  
  
"And to you, Legolas. May we all live to see the dawn."  
  
Legolas smiled gravely. "Right."  
  
Around them, other soldiers of the Rohan spoke among themselves.   
  
"There aren't enough shields to go around..."  
  
"Or swords. Of course, we got to fight in the bloody dark...But look how slow they're moving, though."  
  
"Hell, fast enough for me. Look at 'em all."  
  
A rough answer. "Just give the dumb dark bastards a taste of your fist."  
  
"I'd rather not encourage them to get any taste of me, if it's all the same to you."  
  
Coarse, nervous laughter.  
  
"Be quiet," Legolas snapped firmly, and amazingly, they did.   
  
Next to him, Legolas saw Tamor raise his bow with the rest of the archers.   
  
Nearby, further down the wall, Haldir was speaking to his archers in swift, confident Elvish, as smooth and flowing as a cold stream. Listening in, Legolas realized that Haldir was trying to encourage them. There was something in that suave, sweeping stream of conviction that was unnerving.   
  
// Haldir doesn't believe, either, // Legolas thought, a cold chill sweeping him. // No matter what pretty words he told Aragorn. He doesn't believe we can hold the Deep, and he doesn't believe in the Men, and he doesn't believe even his own can help them. But he'll be damned before he'll let them know it. So he's trying to make us believe, instead of himself. //  
  
Legolas felt a swell of affection for Haldir, for his concern and for his attempt to keep the morale up. He also hated him for not believing.   
  
// You came out of love for Aragorn, not out of faith in Rohan, // Legolas thought, and shook his head a little, turning back towards the battlefield.  
  
"All right, you curs," Haldir snarled in Elvish, smiling grimly. His warriors smiled back at him. "Let's see how you can shoot."   
  
The elvish captain turned to Tamor, who stood armed at the end of his regiment. He switched to Common Tongue, looking down at the boy. "You, little horsemaster. Our job is to keep them off the walls. Make sure they do not reach it. If they do, ignore them unless they come at you. The swordsmen backing us will thump them down. Go for the head first. If you can't get that, go for the weak points of the armor, armpits, upper thigh, neck."  
  
"What about the eyes?" Tamor asked.   
  
"Yes, eyes are good, too. If you can hit an orc's eye in the dark," Haldir added doubtfully. "Not many mortals can."  
  
"I can hit a sparrow's eye after moonset. I could shoot before I could ride, and I could ride almost before I could walk," Tamor replied coolly, bristling with indignation.   
  
Haldir laughed softly, grinning at the boy's attitude. "Ah, well, at least you have spirit. If you can bring the fell things down, do so however you wish. If it's so simple for you, just don't make it look too easy, eh? You'll make the rest of us look bad."   
  
Legolas wanted to say something to match their bluffing bravado, something to chase away his fear, but he could find nothing to say. He only stood, and watched, and waited, and listened.  
  
The Dark Army approached the rampart and stopped. They howled and slammed their lances and clubs and spears and swords into the ground, making it shake. Thunder growled across the sky. Far on the horizon, Legolas could see the flank of the hordes. Barely. His heart lurched in his chest.   
  
"Hold," Haldir said, his voice filled with a deliberately bored, smooth, oh-isn't-this-fun tone. "Hold."  
  
Rain began to fall, clattering on armor and helmets, capturing firelight in wet hair.   
  
"Great. Just lovely," Haldir muttered. Not loudly, but loudly enough for Legolas's sharp ears to catch him.  
  
Legolas pulled his bow up, aiming carefully into the sea of foes. Next to him, Gimli raised his axe in preparation.  
  
"Look lively, dearhearts," Haldir added in the darkness near him, a smirk in the elvish captain's tough, polished voice. Someone laughed, but in the darkness, there was no way to tell who it had been. A nameless elvish face beneath a helm.   
  
"Godspeed, my warriors. Go with my love and the love of The Lady," Haldir purred confidently, raising his own bow.   
  
"Send them back to the dark!" someone shouted. It was a mortal voice.   
  
"I am the son of Tandir!!" the dark golden-haired boy shouted near Legolas, making the elf look over at him. A thunderbolt lit up the sky. The Rohan boy glared out into the darkness with fierce defiance in his voice and rain on his face. Lightning glimmered on his helmet and flashed in his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, he had to shriek over the thunder. "Come for me, orcs! I am Tamor!!"   
  
Someone else took up the call. "I am Einskaldir, son of Elias! Come if you dare!"  
  
"I am Isgrimnur, guard of the Mark!"  
  
"I am Miriamele, Shield-Maiden of Rohan! Go back to your tunnels, foul things!"  
  
The hordes just howled and stamped louder, making the plains echo. Their rumbling cries answered the thunder.   
  
An arrow flew over the wall and found its mark. Someone had decided that words were not enough of a warning.   
  
The declarations stopped, and there was a collective silence. No one knew who had shot it. Haldir scowled, opening his mouth to scream for them to hold the line, what the blasted hells did they think they were doing? But it was too late.   
  
The battle had begun.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Review, yeah? 


	4. The Long Night

Author's Note: This chapter skips around in Helm's Deep, as relaying the entire battle would only take forever. However, you will get the gist of it, I'm sure. Also, please excuse my terrible Elvish grammar, as the interjection of it is only for aesthetic purposes, and I did the best I could with it. Translations are at the end of the chapter.  
  
As for Angst - It's only the third chapter. Battle hasn't even started yet. Give me some time. *evil laughter*  
  
As for Haldir - This guy was majorly fun to write, since he was so underdeveloped in the movie and the book, and I could characterize him the way I wanted. Alas, 'tis the writer's way: Always kill your darlings. Anyway, don't worry. Just trust me. I wouldn't screw it up. It'll be glorious. ^_- He won't go out like a wuss, I promise. (I would have had Legolas speak with him before he died, like someone requested, but this chapter was already written before I got the review).  
  
The Long Night  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Legolas fired and fired; his bowstring sang a frantic song in harmony with the bows of Lorien beside him,   
and the bow of the Rohan boy near him. The orcs were coming up the walls.   
  
"Tell me what goes on, Legolas! I cannot see!" Gimli cried angrily. "What do you see?! Orcs?"  
  
"Orcs," Legolas agreed breathlessly, loosing another arrow. His eyes were narrowed in concentration.   
  
"What else?"  
  
Legolas hesitated for a moment, cocking his head slightly. "More orcs," he answered, someone managing to answer without the slightest tone of sarcasm.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Legolas fought.  
  
His arrows sliced through leather and flesh like it was butter. Claws reached for him, blades aiming to disembowel him, but he ducked out of range. He tripped over the body of one, still shooting, not wasting an arrow. He made a desperate lunge to remain upright and rolled to his feet. A sword sliced the air where he had been, but Legolas was already gone.   
  
He slammed forward into them, arrows flying. He had to get them, had to. He shot them down as they tried to mount the ramparts. Fangs flashed at him, great bulging arms and legs and claws. There were still more, there was no end to them. He must keep moving, must never stop, or they'll catch him.  
  
Dozens of orcs, goblins, and men rushed towards him, jamming the narrow rampart with their bodies, their writhing, flailing legs and heavy swinging arms and swords of cold iron. Glowing eyes bore down on him, like monsters from a child's fairytale.   
  
Legolas stopped where he stood, took careful aim, and killed them all. There was no place for them to run or duck. There was no cover for them. They were all packed together, headlong frenzy and doomed targets. Only when he had cleared the path did he stop to watch. Listen. Wait.   
  
Suddenly, he heard Gimli's voice near him. Amazingly, the dwarf was laughing.   
  
"Hah, Master Elf, how goes the hunt?! I've got two!"  
  
In the utter lunacy of the moment, Legolas laughed brightly. "Two? Dear Master Dwarf, my count must be twenty at least. But don't worry, they're plenty, and the night is long. You may still catch up."  
  
The dwarf sputtered in indignation and was gone. Legolas laughed again.   
  
The sight was terrible, awful. Orcs still, more orcs still in columns and rows and marching and they saw him, turned towards him, so many looking at him, hating him, like they knew him personally and would kill him for some offense he alone had committed against them. The dead and dying were all around.   
  
He was out of arrows. He shouldered his bow and pulled his knives. He fought and he killed them. He fought, seeing his dead kin all around him, and suddenly knowing for certain what the enemy could do to him. That no amount of immortality mattered if your lifeblood was spilling onto the rocks.   
  
He fought.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Aragorn also fought. He met the foe with Anduril.   
  
Around him, the other men (and not a few women) charged bravely forward. They pounded at the orcs with their swords, spears, clubs. They smashed at them with their shields. They punched and stabbed and ripped, missing often, sometimes completely off-balance. But on the limited area of the ramparts, the orcs couldn't reach them all at once, and their efforts were crudely effective.   
  
Aragorn moved like a deadly wind over the parapet, killing and lending aid in a well-timed blow to end separate struggles, knocking orc ladders from the rampart walls. The swordsmen were novice, but they fought for their wives and their children, and that lent desperate power to any weapon. They had a tendency to become grappled up with one foe, but before another could come along and kill the trapped Rohan warrior from behind, Aragorn would step forward and make the kill.  
  
At first, the Rohan men would verbally thank him for his aid, but as the height of battle slowly grew, the acknoledgements were reduced to grunts, and finally ominous silence, except for the sounds of screams and battle cries and harsh breathing and the crack of the thunder.   
  
Despite their lack of skill, Aragorn was surprised to find that most of the Rohan men could hold their own. Orc bodies were stacking up on the wall, making further attacks more difficult. He shoved their corpses off the wall, knocking others down as they tried to scale it.   
  
The orcs became more numerous, more relentless in their rush. The time for retreat would come, Aragorn knew, but for now, they were holding their own rather well. Time was what they had to buy. The dawn would not be far off, if only they could hold the beasts at bay. And with the dawn would come Mithrandir.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Legolas needed arrows. He groped for spent arrows, sticking out of the corpses littering the stone. He collected them from the fallen warriors around him. A dead Lorien elf gave him five more arrows. One from Imladris, pale and limp as a child's ragdoll, lent him eleven more.   
  
Sickened at the carnage and at gaining only three arrows, Legolas pushed away the next corpse angrily, refusing to recognize Heskil, an elf of Haldir's Guard he had known-passingly-all his life. He took the arrows anyway, knowing that his friend would need them no longer.   
  
Legolas was alive. He still needed them.  
  
Aragorn called his attention to an orc at the foot of the wall. It carried something, some kind of torch, that flared like a feverish star. The other orcs made way for it, parting it a path. Legolas didn't know what the creature was trying to do, but it didn't look good at any rate.  
  
"That one! Legolas!"  
  
Without thinking, acting only on instinct, Legolas aimed and shot. He shot it twice. Good, killing blows. It should have been dead. It kept running.   
  
"Legolas! Kill it! Kill it!"  
  
He shot it again; the thing was dying. But by then, it was too late.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The blast when the rampart fell was awesome. It threw Aragorn off his feet. He crashed into the stone on his side. He could see nothing for smoke and darkness. Screams pierced the night, warcries, whimpering, unbelieving shouts filled his ears. He couldn't see Haldir and yelled for him, and he couldn't see Legolas or Gimli, either. He shouted for them all, but there were too many people and orcs and goblins yelling already, and his voice was lost in the din. He stood up when another explosion shook the Deep, flattening him again. And there were more screams.   
  
"HALDIR!" He could barely hear his own scream, much less any reply.   
  
Up on the parapet, the part that had not yet fallen, the elvish captain stuck his head over the wall. "Estel!"  
  
"Haldir! Draw back your archers! They've breached the wall! Pull them back!"  
  
Haldir nodded down at him, made a vicious, dismissive salute and began to call for his elves. But he had turned his back on the battle, and that moment of distraction cost him dearly.  
  
Aragorn saw the elvish captain hit, saw the fatal stroke. Saw lightning flash on the blade as an Uruk lunged forward and struck, driving it into Haldir's side, and jerk it back, quick as a snakebite. Without noticing that he had been struck, Haldir fought the thing.  
  
"HALDIR!"  
  
When Haldir had killed the Uruk, he stood where he was for a moment, still and statuesque. He raised his eyes at Aragorn's voice, eyes wide and clear. They focused on him, eyes dark in a pale face, like the eyes of a northern wolf. No human ever had eyes that color.   
  
Haldir dropped his bow; it fell from his slackening shoulder and hit the stones with a clatter that Aragorn could hear, even over the sounds of battle. Haldir's hands found the wound, fingers fluttering over it, exploring the wrenched, ruined gold. He looked down at his bloodied hands for a second, then raised his eyes back up to Aragorn, pleading. Pleading. Then he sank slowly, gracefully, to the ground, becoming just another fallen shadow.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Haldir did not feel the wound until he had killed his attacker. Just the fact that this creature dared to stab him pissed him off. He grappled with the huge creature, looking into dim, lunatic eyes. He was no longer afraid, if he ever had been at all. He was just furious. All his fear was used up. He looked into the Uruk's eyes, and for a moment, they understood each other, as one warrior to another.   
  
The Uruk looked back at him, growling, breath like rotted meat, mouth filled with rending teeth. Its face was a thing of nightmares, a deformed horror, ragged pointed ears that might have once been the fair tipped ears of an Elf-kin. Its eyes glowed with stupid cunning. Haldir could read the expression in those eyes perfectly well. They were full of hatred and mad jealousy.  
  
// I could have been one of You, // those eyes said. // And you could have been one of Us. We are brothers, You and I. You were born to Light, and I to Darkness. I hate You. I'll hurt You, bloody that pretty face, make the Fair Folk fair no more, and kill You if I can. Hate You! Every last one of You! So I'll eat You, and then You'll be in me. I'll bring you into Darkness, too. And there will be no more Light to shine on our wretchedness. Without Your Light, the world will fall into Shadow. The beasts of the forests You've loved will die chased and screaming. Your stupid trees will fall to ruin. //  
  
Haldir tried to be angry again, tried to call forth that grand striking rage, but he could feel nothing now but revulsion and pity. And pressing terror, that the things this creature wanted could ever come to pass. He knew that this creature wanted him dead, meant to kill him, and suddenly, that was just fine. But he had no intention of going down quietly. Not against this fell creature, who had only the dimmest, decayed sense of dignity. And if he was going down, he was sure as hell going to take this last Uruk with him. If not for fury, than for mercy.  
  
The Uruk saw the fear in Haldir's eyes, and knew that the elf understood. The creature's mouth twisted into a terrifying grin.  
  
"No, stinking bastard!" Haldir snarled defiantly, teeth gritted and bared, pushing forward with as much might as he possessed. He drove it back and killed it with a blow too quick for human eyes to see. He rammed his sword into it fiercely, even though it was already dead. It was dead, yes, but he meant to have his way with it all the same. Never in his long ages of his life had he ever been so severely hurt, and it was over and done with before he could realize it.   
  
It was only when the thing was dead and his sword buried in its chest that he felt the deep, numbing pain in his side. From across the world, it seemed like, he could hear the faint rasp of his own breathing, a thin sound as air went down his throat and slid back out again in a series of feverish gasps. Strangely, he found himself wondering where the little horsemaster was, the little golden-haired one at the end of his line, and whether the boy was still living.   
  
// Stupid thing to be thinking. Stabbed me. Pathetic pitiful bloody bastard stabbed me. Hurt me. Ai, Elbereth, Elbereth.... that's one more accursed creature that can do no more harm, at least. //   
  
Haldir looked up and saw that Aragorn was staring up at him in horror. He tried to stay focused on Aragorn's face, tried to stay on his feet, but couldn't. The strength leaked out of his legs, and he suddenly found himself kneeling on the stones. All the screams became distant, the torchlights too bright.   
  
He closed his eyes, breathing in gasps. // Hold it together, for Valar's sake. If you're going, you'll go, sure enough. But you're not going to go before you call them in. So hold it together... //  
  
The elvish captain drew in a deep breath of cold, wet night air, ignoring the coppery, metallic taste in the back of his throat, and cried out against the darkness.   
  
"ENTULESSE! FIFIIRA!"  
  
The Elves talked about it for ages to come; centuries after the end of Sauron, they were still talking about it. Singing about it. One could hardly meet an elf in Valinor who did not claim to have been there on the night of the battle of Helm's Deep, and to have heard that last deep, courageous cry.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Aragorn flew as fast as his feet could carry him. And there Haldir was, suddenly, crumpled on the stone before him, fading torchlight gleaming off golden armor. He kneeled in dirty water, discarded, ignored by the enemy, which dashed doggedly past him, knowing he posed no more threat. Aragorn rushed forward, grabbed, tried to lift him as the warcries echoed around them-  
  
"No!" Haldir gasped, shoving him away. "Let go, Estel! Go on, damn you!"  
  
Aragorn saw it then, the terrible gash in Haldir's side, saw the dark slick of blood spilling there. He saw Haldir's fingers clamped there, trying to hold the wound closed.   
  
"Don't worry, Haldir. I'll carry you," he whispered. He tried to pick the elvish captain up again, but Haldir would not let him. The elf struggled and cried out in a mixture of pain and frustrated disgust. His face was twisted into a desperate, snarling grimace.  
  
Haldir shoved at him again. "Damned fool....just go on!" There was blood in the elf's voice. It was ragged, choked, the sound of something terribly, hopelessly torn.   
  
"I've got you, mellon-nin," Aragorn said, ignoring the elvish captain's tortured words, choked with pain and anger. For Aragorn, there was no more battle at that moment. There was nothing but this, nothing but this duty, this thing to do, for his friend to live. Live.  
  
// Help me! Legolas! Gimli! Someone help me! // Aragorn thought, desperately. He tried to shout for help, but no words would come. And no one came. No one helped. Everyone was fighting for their lives, no one could come. The rain was pounding down now-a hard, drenching rain that plastered his hair to his skull-and he held Haldir in his arms and no one came.  
  
"Aiya! Help me! Haldir ye harna!" Aragorn screamed finally. He put his hand over Haldir's, holding the wound closed as best he could. Warm blood spilled over his fingers, the wet red sunlight of a dying day. In that moment, Aragorn would have given anything to be an Elf, and one of the Halfelven royal court. To be a blooded kin of Elrond, to be Gifted, to be able to heal...to be able to cure with his touch. But he was not. He was mortal. He was weak, helpless against this foe, this death, and hated himself for it.  
  
Aragorn lifted Haldir up against him, pressed against his chest protectively. The elvish captain's eyes rested on his, his grip fading, head lolling weakly. But Haldir smirked up at him. His eyes were calm and aware. It was that same disdainful go-to-hell smile, but now it was only heartbreakingly tragic.  
  
The elvish knight sighed wearily. There was no peace in his expression, no hope, although Aragorn would have loved to have been able to say so. All he saw there was an infinite exhaustion. He had never seen an elf look so old. "Elessar, did I ever tell you...I loved Galadriel?"  
  
Aragorn was sure he had never heard the captain of the Lothlorien Guard ever voice anything of the sort. He knew that Haldir could have been disgraced for saying such a thing, and it was something he himself would never repeat to another soul, not even Arwen.   
  
"...No," the Ranger whispered. It was true; Aragorn knew that if Haldir hadn't been dying, he never would have uttered the words. But Aragorn had known. Anyone who saw how Haldir revered the Lady Lorien had to have known, even Celeborn. And yet, he had never said a word. It was an unspoken thing.  
  
"Ai...I was so sure...I must have," Haldir whispered, and fell silent.  
  
Sinking down against the rock, bloodied palm of his hand falling away from his wound to rest on cool stone, Haldir had one last wistful thought. // Ai, my Lady....Dwimordene....It takes too long to die. //  
  
He closed his eyes and imagined Galadriel's eyes, deep dark blue wells of stars, time, and memory. Seeing this last, he was swept into darkness, across a span of starlight, and into the Halls of Mandos.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Feeling Haldir go still in his arms, Aragorn gently, carefully laid the elvish captain on the cold, bloody stone. Stone. Haldir would have hated it, Aragorn thought ruefully, and this last was painful still. Tears cut tracks down his dirty cheeks.   
  
Aragorn stood, clumsily moving to his feet, staggered, but did not fall. He lifted Anduril, a serene expression on his face.  
  
He refused to fall. The stakes were too high.  
  
From far away, it seemed, he could hear Legolas and Gimli.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Twenty-one, my pointy-eared friend! How fare you!?"  
  
"Good, you've almost caught me then, bushy-bearded comrade," Legolas lied easily, returning the dwarf's barb about his ears with an agreeable verbal jab at the dwarf's beard. "A few dozen, only. You will surpass me yet. Though I fear there will prove to be enough for us both."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
From the East, past the terror that was Mordor, a half-light began to fill the sky.   
  
Not dawn. Not yet. But almost.   
  
Almost.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Don't forget to review!  
  
Translation:   
Haldir ye harna! - Haldir is wounded!  
Entulesse! Fifiira! - Return! Fade away! (Retreat)  
Mellon-nin - my friend 


End file.
